


The Widow

by carloabay



Series: we don't need a license [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 20th Century, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blood and Injury, Deaf Clint Barton, Explicit Language, F/F, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carloabay/pseuds/carloabay
Summary: Agent Maria Hill brings down the biggest female mob boss in New York, and what does she have to show for it? New enemies, dirty money, andfeelings.
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: we don't need a license [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808770
Comments: 31
Kudos: 51





	1. Widow's Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of a mafia AU except I know nothing about the American-Italian Mafia, or Jewish organised crime in New York, or Snakehead smugglers, so this is not the Five Families of New York or anything: we've got the Spiders, the King's Army, the X, the Reds, and the Avengers. :)
> 
> Late 40's/early 50's.

Natasha sighed smoke and crushed her used cigarette into the silver ashtray. The woman watched her with those smart brown eyes, and over Natasha's shoulder, Barton crossed his wrists and shifted from foot to foot, twice.

"I'd say two, but I'm feeling generous. Go for four." She tapped a red lacquered fingernail on the arm of her chair, and Barton relaxed, but the woman sat straighter than ever in the hazy, low-lit room. A spine like a broom handle. Natasha tilted her head lazily and waited for an answer. Eventually, the woman scoffed, a snort like a buffalo, and narrowed her eyes.

"Four percent? For all the money that could get me, I'd be living under a bridge. Give me eighteen," she argued. Brash. Stupidly so. Barton, obviously still itching to stick a knife in something, scuffed his toe on the floor sharply.

"I wasn't born this morning, darling," Natasha drawled. "Now, think carefully about who you're speaking to, and amend your tone a bit. You're in a room with the Widow. Show some respect." She sat back, eyeing the woman carefully. "Four."

"Sixteen," the woman replied, without hesitation. Natasha smiled without humour. Those brown eyes watched her unfailingly, holding a challenge she had yet to unravel. This wasn't just about shares.

"You're not good at this, huh? Hell, I need another smoke to deal with you." She beckoned to Barton, and he immediately produced a pack of cigarettes, seemingly from thin air. Natasha took one, struck a match on the table, lit the smoke, and took a nice, long drag. Smoke flooded her lungs, and she took the cigarette out of her mouth between two fingers, then gestured gracefully at the woman with the ember end of it. "Four."

The woman seemed to hesitate this time. 

"Twelve." Natasha arched one perfect eyebrow, but conceded to play along.

"Five."

"Eleven." The brown-eyed woman looked dangerously like she was starting to enjoy this.

"Six, final."

"Ten. We can skate on it. No skin off your nose," cajoled the woman. _Cajoling_. Natasha hadn't come into this bargain _expecting_ to wave the guns around, but this woman was offending a final offer. She was disrespecting the Widow. Barton had gone very still. Natasha leaned forward with a smokey sigh, and fixed the woman with a sharp stare.

"You don't want to be running in circles with me, baby," she said, lowering her voice to a cutting snarl. "Look around you." The woman didn't move an inch. There was a smile curling her lips that was pissing Natasha off. "Go on. Look." Natasha waved her ash-dripping cigarette at the large boys and girls assembled around the room. All her spiders. Someone cracked their knuckles. "These people work for me. They're big. They get good pay. They enjoy ripping the arms off people like you. Now, I hope you're either buoyant or about to appeal to my better nature, 'cause if you don't..." she leaned back again and licked her lips. "...the Hudson River's always hungry. You were saying?" 

The woman tilted her head like Natasha had personally amused her.

"And here I was hoping to do some honest business."

"There's nothing honest about New York," Natasha bit back. She regretted taking the bait almost immediately, but it wasn't like she didn't still hold all the power in the room. A single movement from her, and Barton would stick the woman with a blade so fast that no one would even see him move. Something about this exchange, however, was idling in the back of Natasha's mind; something hidden beneath a couple layers of smart brown eyes. She'd been in hundreds of deals and bargains and shares before, been tricked and jumped and humiliated, and she'd learnt from it all. But she needed this one. It was important, she needed the woman to take it, and she needed to give back less than eight percent or things were going to go pear-shaped around here pretty quickly. If she was right, she'd be okay. If she was wrong, well...pear-shaped would be an understatement. Crippling debt would probably be more like it. And a lawsuit, but she'd wormed out of those before.

Before she'd properly ruminated on it, however, the woman was speaking again, and Natasha tipped her head to listen, making her eyes so wide and her lips so big.

"I'm not scared of your threats," said the woman, tapping an illustrative finger hard into the polished table wood. "I'm not scared of _you_. You wanna get your lackeys to do your dirty work? Fine by me. It's pathetic, and cowardly, stabbing back when a deal's not over yet, and I came here thinking the Widow might have some respect for the trade, or at least some respect for her self and her people, but apparently not." Those words spiked fury in Natasha's thoughts, and she thought, if Barton had been an attack dog, he'd be slavering at the mouth with his hackles raised right now, but this wasn't finished. The woman fixed the cuffs of her sleeve and smiled like an alligator. "I'm tempted to withdraw my offer entirely. But I'll give you a shot." She spread her hands at the room with a grin that Natasha hadn't noticed growing until it was very, very wide. This woman was commanding the atmosphere, and to think Natasha had been _bored_ at the beginning. No, this was exciting. "These spiders have gotta get payed, huh? So my offer stands at ten. Try and be reasonable, would you?"

Natasha flicked ash onto the table. So the game was beginning. Time to remind this big-mouthed woman exactly who she was speaking to.

"I guess you wanna do this the hard way," she said, and the woman raised an eyebrow that looked like a challenge to Natasha. "First of all, no one speaks to me like that," she started, with a low, threatening tone. "Not on my ground. Not in this city. No one talks to me like that, period."

The woman rested an elbow on the back of her chair, perfectly at ease, and Natasha carried on valiantly.

"Let me make something clear," she carried on. "I'm big in this city. You're not. My spiders work for _me_ , because they're not afraid to get their hands dirty, because they're not loud-mouthed cowards, unlike you. I don't like your big talk, 'cause I don't like talk that doesn't lead places, get me? This place? It's the toughest New York has to offer, and I'd think twice about saying the words 'lackey', 'pathetic' or 'coward' anywhere even in the vicinity of me and my people." Natasha paused for a second to let the words soak into the air. Yanking back the controls. "This deal was meant to be cut and dry, but instead, I had to threaten you." She punctuated her sentence with a cigarette jab at the woman across from her, then took a drag and carried on. "I don't like threatening people; I'm a friendly gal! But I'm also the top bitch here, and believe me when I say I'm not afraid of what I have to do to get what I want in a bargain."

The room held a thicker silence than before, and Natasha leaned back into her seat once again with a smile that promised nothing but threat.

"Now, I'll be retreating my offer, on account'a your bein' rude, and you best hope it don't get worse than that. Four percent. And just remember, I got pockets. I got people in those pockets. This place is mine, you're on my turf. The bargain is on my terms, so I suggest you get a little politer, huh?" She drew on the cigarette again and blew out the smoke, wreathing the desk and the bargain in a slow haze. "Your move, baby. Try not to trip yourself up this time."

But there was something very wrong. Not with the deal. With the woman. It wasn't that she was pretty, although in another life, that might have been the case; those eyes could drop a woman's pants faster than you could say Robin Hood. She wasn't scared, and she wasn't brokering for a deal. She was biding her time, and she wasn't so much keeping her cards close as she was empty-handed of cards in the first place. Stalling: stalling wasn't a good sign in the business.

The woman smiled. Not a grin anymore. A smile like she'd won something, and then Natasha saw the glint of a silver crest beneath the white of her shirt pocket. She ran the possibilities in a stream through her head as the woman began to talk again, the police, the FBI, the CIA, the U.S. Marshals... _Damn_ , she should never have trusted the brass. They made deals and then they sent in agents to stab her in the back. 

And those words about people in her pocket had meant nothing to the woman: maybe it had bolstered her people around her, who knew nothing, but now between the two of them, Natasha was wrong and that made her bitter. But at least she'd been right about something. And she'd be avoiding the pear-shaped circumstances that she'd dreaded if this hadn't turned out to be a bust.

The woman widened her eyes, playfully overdramatic. They were making theatre, now that Natasha knew. 

"Maybe I...miscalculated," the woman said hesitantly. Damn, why had she never bothered to learn her name? Client anonymity would be her downfall. Not today, however. Maybe...maybe Natasha could salvage something before they took her in and she had to enact her plans. She let her eyes travel over her people as the woman stumbled over a pretend apology in front of her. Yelena, draped across the doorway taking sips from her drink, caught Natasha's eye, and at a slight nod, she disappeared. One down. The woman rambled on. She twitched her head towards Barnes, and he, too, vanished. The Captain would never forgive her, maybe not even let her live, if she left his favourite Soldier to the law enforcement's jaws. Two down.

"...just business, I suppose..." the woman was saying, bright eyed now, nodding along to her own words. Natasha blinked twice at Logan, and the hulking man took blind Matt's elbow and led him slowly from the room. Logan was there on behalf of the X, and it wasn't Natasha's place to get him incarcerated. Matt, on the other hand, could come in useful...from a legal perspective. 

The spy, Nakia. Natasha let her go with a nod. The King was fiercely jealous and protective of his people, and brutal when it came to punishment for their sake. Natasha wasn't keen to lose her tongue. Or her head. There weren't anymore people she could lose without giving herself away and getting them cornered, but it was fine. Her spiders were loyal to the end, and Barton went with her wherever. He never left her side.

Here it came. The woman checked her watch, and one of Natasha's spiders put his hands on his hips. A traitor. She let her fury seeth beneath the surface; now wasn't the time to get rid of people. Maybe when she got back in the game, she'd have whoever hired him killed. Then she'd have him killed, too. She had no space for traitors.

It happened in the blink of an eye. The woman threw back her chair and drew a handgun from beneath her overcoat, the traitor spider barrelled into two of Natasha's loyals, Barton disappeared with barely a whisper of sound, and the door flew inwards with an almighty kick from a squad of armed officers, who streamed in, rifles up and instantly trained on Natasha. All around her, the spiders were being knocked down, forced to their knees, trained at gunpoint by the armed team: silver eagle logos on their sleeves. S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha stared down the barrel of the woman's sidearm with the smallest of smiles, and let her gloat, for now.

"Gotta say, I've been looking forward to this," the woman said. Those eyes were still bright, and Natasha noticed shards of darker brown, almost black, cutting through the light brown of them. The woman pulled her silver, eagle embossed badge from her shirt pocket and held it out. "Agent Hill, Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. You're going to jail, Romanova." Natasha, hands raised in surrender, turned her head ninety degrees to take a drag from the cigarette that was still held loosely between her fingers.

"Know thine enemy, I suppose?" she said, and Hill gave a tight smile that was more of a grimace.

"I've been studying you for sixth months," she said. "Tracking, planning, infiltrating. It's been a wild ride, and you know how to get yourself out of trouble, I'll give you that. But we've got cold, hard evidence that even a damn miracle won't be able to cover up." Natasha hated to blow her triumph, but she truly couldn't wait any longer. Hill paused for a second, seeming to catch her breath. Maybe excitement made her tired. "Put your hands on the desk. You're under arrest, Widow. Forgery, murder, smuggling, blackmail, illegal physical and psychological punishment, and armed robbery." Natasha sighed.

"Oh, honey. You must be new here." She waved her cigarette and leaned back in her seat, and Hill gripped her gun tighter, shifting her stance a little, a frown forming. Natasha shook her head and let out a little laugh. "I'm sorry. Let me try again." She eyed Hill, and Hill swallowed. Natasha just smiled. "Agent, I'm _flattered_. All this, for me? It'll make your victory so much sweeter, I suppose, being the one..." Natasha rose from her seat and circled around the desk, Hill's barrel and dark eyes tracking her every move, her bright, blood red fingernails trailing over the shining surface of the desk. She stopped just before Hill, wrists held out in front of her, and a wide-eyed, pouting expression on her face. "...to put me in handcuffs." Natasha winked and Hill swallowed again, but holstered her sidearm and scrabbled for her handcuffs inside her coat. 

The armed team were professional, but she could tell that they were nervous and hadn't been planning on having to restrain her spiders for so long.

"On a side note, I don't suppose you've heard of the girls from Harlem, have you? The King's girls?" Hill paused for just a half a second, and Natasha's grin stretched. "What about the X? The Captain? I bet your team have been trying real hard to pin them down, huh?" Natasha made an exaggerated sad face and Hill unlocked the cuffs and held them out, open for Natasha. "But you just...can't..." she drew on the cigarette one last time, then dropped it and crushed it beneath her heel. "Catch 'em." She offered Hill a last, wicked smile, then lowered her hands into the handcuffs. "Mm. Loyalty's a funny thing, here in New York." Hill refuses to meet Natasha's eyes, and she tilted her head. "I suppose to you, it'd mean to your Democrat President. Your Federal government. To me? Loyalty is to the family." Hill stopped working the cuffs and started listening, and Natasha grinned again. "Here's what'll happen. I'll sit behind bars, pretty as can be." She winked quickly, and Hil frowned a little deeper. A crease between her eyes and on the bridge of her nose. "The King's girls might get restless without me. The X will lose people. The Captain'll lose good bargains. They'll start shaking things up, and when they do, you'll put your gun to the streets and your back to me." Natasha leaned in close, lips pressed almost against Hill's ear, ignoring the click of rifles all around her. Hill's pulse tapped away at the skin of her neck, and Natasha let out a smoke-tipped breath. "You should never turn your back on a Black Widow, baby."

"That's enough," Hill snarled, pushing her away, and yanking at her wrists.

"Do you like the nails?" Natasha purred, as Hill snapped the cuffs closed. "Widow's Velvet. I had it named after me, 'specially." Hill didn't reply, barely even seeming to register Natasha's words as she took the chain of Natasha's cuffs and whirled a finger at her team to move out. But Natasha didn't budge, and everyone stared. "Ever heard of the Unlawful Seven?" Hill just glared, and Natasha tilted her head. "The Decimation? Maybe you have. What was it? Weeks? Months? Spent tracking me. Maybe a shred on conversation on the wind, the trouble of loose-lipped, long-dead associates. Ponder it," Natasha said, still smiling. Her jaw hurt, a little, but she kept it up. "Hope to catch me in the act." Hill stepped close, turned away from her men, and Natasha gazed up at her.

"I shouldn't be surprised at your arrogance," Hill said quietly, vehemently. "You've been at this game for years. But your time is over. You've _lost_. You're nothing now." Her voice had become a low snarl, and Natasha swayed ever so slightly to its lilt. "I know that you're dirt, Widow. I know what you've done to people. You'll serve time 'til all your days are done, I'm gonna goddamn make sure of that." Natasha laughed, and Hill twisted the cuffs, painfully. "You think this is funny? Some people say greed is born, or taught, but you? You made your own greed, your own hardships. You've never had a bad time in your life! Your roots are your ego and your willingness to have other people die to make a ladder to your success. You're made up, and I don't fall for it. There's no penance for what you've done, except to rot in federal jail, and I'm so glad I get to be the one to put you there. You've _lost_." A bull-like snort, and a yank on the cuffs, but still Natasha didn't move, staring up at Hill from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. 

"Pretty speech, agent. A shame, really, that through your extensive research, your effort, your exhaustive, flowery words, you've overlooked one thing." Natasha licked her lips like a predator. "I _never_ lose," she breathed. Hill, seemingly having had enough, shoved her in the direction of one of the armed soldiers, and scanned the room.

"Move out!" she barked. "Pick up any stragglers! I don't want even _one_ person left in this place!"

"Maybe I'll see you in the interrogation room," Natasha called over her shoulder. Hill stared after her with that frown still on her face. "That'd be fun, right? We've still got some dancing to do, Agent Hill." And then the soldier pushed her around the corner roughly, and Hill and her little frown and her dimming brown eyes, full of shaded shards, were lost from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope,,,,it was okay?,?
> 
> Feedback would be appreciated!


	2. Widow's Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha strikes a deal, much to Maria's dismay. Barton is more than he appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interrogation trope :))

S.H.I.E.L.D weren't gentle with her. Armed men manhandled her into a blindfold, then into the back of a car, where she sat with a pout and her hands in cuffs. No one payed her any attention until the rough bouncing of the car drew to a stop, the door was opened and Natasha was hauled out. Still blindfolded, she was marched down corridors that muffled her footsteps, pushed around corners and finally through a door.

She was sat down hard on a very uncomfortable steel chair, her blindfold was left on, and she was cuffed to a chilly bar on the surface of a scratched up table. And then they left her there, with nothing but the echo of the slamming door and heavy boots to accompany her. 

The blindfold itched like crazy. However, she spent all that alone time just as she was trained to do: ramrod straight and smiling just so. She wasn't afraid of S.H.I.E.L.D, or anything they might do to her. She wasn't afraid of the Feds. She wasn't afraid of anything, because this was her damn city.

They left her there a while. The room smelt like tobacco and sweat and a little bit of rusty blood, and Natasha's sweet perfume was like her armour against the stink. Cameras were trained on her like guns, she knew. She could always feel when she was being watched, and it was cameras. Or maybe they had one of those two-way mirrors cops put in interrogation rooms: Natasha had gotten out of enough arrests to know about them, and she guessed S.H.I.E.L.D, with their modern weapons and their female agents, would at least have a two-way mirror. Exciting. Progressive.

The door opened and slammed shut, and heavy boots made militant steps through the room to unceremoniously yank Natasha's blindfold off her head. She blinked dizzily in the bright room for a second, then pinned her smile back in place as Agent Hill slapped the cloth down onto the table and glared. She'd changed into pants and a navy S.H.I.E.L.D blouse, her shoulder holster over the shirt, and she looked delicious with her sleeves rolled up like that.

Natasha had liked the little cocky smiles that Hill had directed her way when they were throwing words and threats back and forth a few hours ago. Now, though, Hill's face was a mask of tight professionalism. But it couldn't be too hard to get her a little riled up, right? Natasha was ready to get some real emotions out of this woman.

(The room _did_ have a large two-way mirror. Go figure. The rest of it was disappointingly bare and clean, though: they may have wiped away the dirt, but they couldn't get rid of the smell of brutality and history. Natasha glanced at the mirror, at her spectators behind it, for a moment, silently promising to give them a show.)

Hill slammed a thick, S.H.I.E.L.D inked file onto the table beside the blindfold, pulled her chair out with a sharp scrape, and sat down, all with militant precision. Natasha watched her with slightly parted lips and that smile, still pinned up.

"Alright, Romanova. You're gonna tell me everything I wanna know, and you're gonna tell me the _truth_. Got it?" Hill was studiously avoiding eye contact, for now. Natasha sighed.

"Oh, dear,” she drawled, putting on a high class accent into the words. “These are your techniques? I might as well get comfortable, because it's making me a little drowsy.” She shifted in her seat. The cuffs clinked like a referee whistle. “I have to say, Hill, I expected more.” Hill locked gazes with her for the first time, and Natasha's smile widened. Something dangerous strung tension out like a washing line between the two women, and Natasha sat back, slinging one elbow over the back of her chair. Hill looked down at her file, her sharp jaw held tight.

"The deal we were arguing over. It was for a partnership in a company that you own, an overseas company. But I have records and footage and eye-witness accounts on you-“ Natasha twitched with fury at the mention of betrayal- “and not once have my people found anything pertaining to overseas investments. Not transnational corporations, not FDIs, not foreign banks. You don’t deal in overseas, Romanova. So what’s going on?” Hill knotted her long, delicately brown fingers together, and Natasha let those smart, quick eyes do one last look-over. Then Natasha flicked her gaze to the two-way mirror and sighed from the corner of her mouth. She was missing her cigarettes already. She checked her Widow's Velvet, stuck out her lip at a crack in the glossy finish. All the while, Hill watched her rigidly from her chair.

"I suppose...business. That's what you sign up for when you go for this sort of thing," she hummed, coy. Hill placed her hands flat on the table, either side of the file.

"I'm not going to play games with you, Romanova. You had your fun. Start answering my questions, or this ordeal is going to get painful." The muscles in Hill's forearms were ready, coiling to push her from her chair at the slightest antagonism from Natasha. Natasha made her eyes very, very wide.

"Are you threatening me, Agent Hill?"

"Yes," Hill growled, and her voice turned organ-deep with that one word. She flipped a page in her file with unnecessary force. "This company doesn't exist. It’s fake. There’s no money coming from anywhere, and certainly no deals to be made for partnership. So why were you running shares from a source that doesn't have any?" Natasha blinked, slow. Doe-like.

There were blue smudges underneath Hill's eyes, harsh in the stark light. She slumped back in her seat, never taking her eyes off Natasha, one short-nailed, strong hand still on the table. She tugged at her collar with the other hand, and bitten cuticles winked red and painful, flashing as her fingers moved quickly to brush an itch away at her chin. Those wounded fingers were the only messy part of Hill; scraped nervously back. All of the rest of her was crisp and clean and sharp: perfectly ironed shirt, treated leather on her holster, creased pants so keen they looked like they could give you a paper cut.

"Fine," Hill grated out, after a second. "Alright. Too open ended for your slippery tongue? Let's run some options.” She gestured, uncharacteristically vaguely, at the file on the table. “I took a guess: you want to create ties with desperate people. You need an investment to be considered for shares, and this country is still dragging its feet from the wartime mud. You put out that there was no investment needed for the deal to begin, which was suspicious at first, but now is obvious.” Natasha cocked an overly surprised eyebrow.

“Obvious, hm? Do tell.” And she leant forward with a click of chains to rest her chin on her hand. Hill was glaring right into Natasha’s eyes now, steely and set.

“Desperate people want shares in offshore companies without having to give in their safety net.”

“Well-versed in economics, aren’t you? Agent.”

“I’ve had to be,” Hill snapped back. Then she shifted in her seat, like she regretted taking Natasha’s hook. Natasha hid a smile, and Hill cleared her throat. “If you were intent on giving me shares, you’d have to make upfront payments, which’d put you in debt. A debt you can’t pay off, because your nonexistent business ain’t-isn’t making any money.” Natasha’s lips twitched at the nervous slip up of an accent, but Hill brushed it off quickly. “I guessed you were planning on springing a loan on me after we made the deal, to take a cut of money, use some to make up a little payback, then say the business had failed and keep the loan.” Hill tugged on her collar once more and tucked a single stray hair back behind her ear. “It’s a yes or no question, Romanova. Did you take loans for unknowing investors without the intention or means to pay them back?” Hands, flat and spread on the table again. Hill still hadn’t broken that hard gaze. “And then, did you force these vulnerable people depending on the loan, the debt, the shares, into a deadlocked position where they depend on you but can’t pay back a single dime? Did you force small-time investors into this filthy web of murder and money by stealing and cheating from them? I just need a yes or no.”

“That’s a lot of shop talk, Hill,” Natasha replied, ever so carefully. Hill was accusing her of fraud and theft and slavery, none of which anyone had ever proved, or ever had any right to try to do so. Hill’s shoulders twitched, and then she slammed a hand on the table, the noise harsh and loud in the empty room.

“Answer the damn question,” she said coldly. But now Natasha really couldn’t tell. Was this frustration an act? She’d meant to rile Hill up with her eyes and her words and her lips, but she couldn’t know if she’d succeeded or not. She couldn’t even know if she was squinting in the right direction. God, but Hill was good. If it had been a man interrogating her, she’d have it in the bag.

“I don’t do indentures, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Natasha replied slowly. “My spiders are paid. They have their freedom. And I don’t have time for greasy li’l businessmen running around my people and tripping us up.” She tilted her head. Maybe Hill was straight as a scaffold pole. Not likely, not with those pants and the rolled-up sleeves and the goddamn holster. But Hill was still waiting for an answer, so Natasha elaborated, always looking for a way in. “No, I don’t do overseas money. It’s sticky at best an’ lost at worst, so no, you won’t find any’a that FDI shit tied to me. But maybe, could you just think for a li’l minute, and wonder why I might give bull crap to a potential buyer? I’m a hustler, babe. Lying about the existence of money, of investment chance, there’s gotta be a _good_ reason for that, right?”

“You’re a liar and a swindler, that’s the reason,” Hill said darkly. Then yet again, she shifted, a little to the side, like she was cringing at the rise Natasha’s condescension had gotten out of her.

“Oh, well that’s certainly true,” Natasha hummed. “But not the answer I’m looking for...”

“You’re answering _my_ questions, Romanova,” Hill warned, the muscles in her neck tightening. Natasha sighed delicately.

"I'll set the scene, then," she murmured, shifting her chin in her palm and lowering her eyelashes. Hill looked at the file with a muscle ticking in her jaw. "I proposed a deal to your people. You ain't got shit goin' on upstairs, so you don't do your research. Except-" Natasha scraped a red nail over the tabletop and tilted her head- "You do, 'cause you're a blue, and a liar. You turn up. You bust out guns and bruise my guys up, then later, you whine at me for not giving you enough leads to land me in jail." Hill's jaw twitched, and Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Now, in case you didn't get my meaning, I'll make it real clear: I lied because I didn't trust the smell off'a you for one second. I know when I'm cruisin' for a bruising, and that was it. So no," she said scornfully, "there is no bloody overseas company!"

"Watch your mouth," Hill warned, flicking her hard gaze back to Natasha.

"God, go on and make me," Natasha snapped, her frustration sizzling through her indifferent mask. Hill blinked. Natasha carried on, ignoring Hill's slight flush. "Yeah, I lied to you." She jerked a thumb at herself, handcuffs clanging indignantly. "You think I got this high in New York by being wet 'n' happy? Cut the gas. Second of all, these 'vulnerable people'? I don't know what kinda cotton you got stuffed in your ears as a kid, but if someone's begging you out like that, you ought'a scrape around in there." She sat back, admiring Hill's unreadable expression. "Ain't nobody in New York an honest fella." She spread her hands, as much as she was able, and the cold cuffs bit into her wrists. "That's all I have to say. I hope I answered your questions, but I 'spect you're getting nowhere, hm? Maybe your 'exhaustive research' should've extended to all the ways I'll pay you back for ruffa tuffin me, when this is over." Hill's nostrils flared for a half a second, and then she sat back, mirroring Natasha's stance. Relaxed. Wary. They watched each other for a thin moment.

"I wouldn't worry about giving me leads to get you jailed, Romanova," Hill said, glancing nonchalantly at her own nails. "That's practically a closed deal at this point. But I wasn't asking about you." Her dark eyes flickered to Natasha's, like pools of sunlit ink. "I already know everything I need to know to shut you up for life. I want to know about your associates. Accomplices. Partners. Whatever you want to call them. You're caught, and now you're a lead to them." Natasha licked her top lip and glanced away, and Hill snorted. That bull-like sound again. "What, you'll die quiet to keep your loyalty?" Almost teasing. "Please, you said it yourself." She leant forwards, over the table, resting her forearms on the file. "Ain't nobody in New York an honest fella," she echoed, with a mockery of Natasha's accent. "So, that's got to include you, hasn't it?" Natasha let their eyes meet once more.

"What are you gettin' at, then?" she asked sweetly. That crease between Hill's eyebrows and on the bridge of her nose reappeared. Natasha was almost glad to see it. It tightened Hill's jaw and her cheekbone, and the light fell differently on her when she made that face.

"You know what I'm getting at," she said, voice dangerously low. "I don't care if you're buddies. I don't care how tight you think your circle is. I want to know two things, Romanova: what the money from the loans was going to be for, and who you work with. Now give me a straight answer, or I swear you'll feel the consequences." Natasha held back a smile, and didn't answer. Hill's mouth tightened to a crooked slash across her face, and she stood with a harsh scrape of her chair. "I know you like to act like you're the boss, Widow. Don't forget, I've been monitoring you for _months_. But frankly, I'd be underwhelmed if you were." Natasha's heart slowed to a slow thump. If Hill was redacting her power, Natasha wasn't sure her pride could take it. No one disrespected the Widow.

"Oh, you would?" Hill missed the dangerous note in Natasha's voice. She was too busy watching her eyes. Not everyone made that mistake. Usually they were watching her chest or her lips. But then again, she had ruminated on having it in the bag if it had been a man, because it so often was.

"You work for someone, too, even if you won't admit it. They all do. I don't expect you to spill everything down to blood just because I've sat you in a small room and yelled - but by all means feel free - because realistically, that won't happen." Natasha narrowed her eyes. Hill glared right back. "Don't think dodging the answer makes you a hero, Romanova. It just gets on my nerves." _Oh, but that's exactly what I'm trying to do_ , Natasha thought. She tipped her head back, and Hill let out just the tiniest huff, of what could have been frustration. "Now answer me."

"There are no heroes here, Agent Hill," Natasha replied. "There's sisters and brothers and blood, and if you must know, that's what's keeping me quiet. Love. Blood. Money." She tipped her head from side to side, like she was evaluating. "Not necessarily in that order." Hill didn't even move. Natasha sighed. "Officer, I _can_ do this all night, but by the looks of things, you've got a bit of work to do yourself. So why dontcha just make a date for the court, clap me in irons and chuck me in jail, and I'd be much obliged." Hill gave a sound that might have been a laugh, but a little too violently cold.

"Goddamn, woman. We've barely gotten started. Or do you want me to list all the things I've got you in here to talk about? Unpaid labour. Torture. Armed robbery. _Murder_ -"

"Alright," Natasha said lazily, cutting her off. It looked like it might be a long night. All the better for her. Hill leant forward, nodding ever so slightly, hands flat on the table again.

"Loyalty, blood and money, huh? Oh, that's right, Romanova. Dig yourself a hole here and not in court, why don't you? It'll look better on the record."

"It certainly will," Natasha murmured. Hill ignored her.

"Don't you have a saying, in your line of work? Snitches get stitches?"

"I'm not much of a dab hand at riddles in rhymes, Hill," Natasha deflected. Hill shrugged, but not the movement that the was meant to be: not loose and careless. It was sharp and straight and it meant something that Natasha hadn't figured out yet.

"Well, if you're not, I guess it won't matter that you talked. Or would you rather rot in jail than get shot the moment you stepped free? Trust me, I know all about it."

"Isn't that convenient? Courtesy of all your _research_?" Natasha replied. Once again, Hill ignored it.

"Your hope, Widow, is to tell us what you know, and then maybe we'll have taken down your superiors and associates before you've finished jail time.  
That should be enough incentive for anyone, not to get killed. Right?" Hill leant closer to Natasha, and for a second, Natasha could smell a hint of perfume. Just a hint. "You know that you'll plummet if you don't take this opportunity to tell me everything. You've lost already, but maybe you can take someone else down with you. Yeah?" Natasha looked away, and Hill tilted her head on her long neck. "If you're looking for the silver lining, there isn't one. Get talking, before you wind up hurting." Natasha raised one perfect eyebrow, turning her gaze back to Hill's face. No reaction.

"No need to threaten me, darling. No one outside will kill me, and you're certainly not going to. Against your moral code, or somethin' like that." _God_ , the lack of nicotine really was starting to get to her. Natasha fought the urge to tap her foot. "My web requires a certain skill set, and a certain capacity to _hold your tongue_. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't uphold that value, wouldn't I?" Once again, Hill didn't notice the dangerous shard in Natasha's voice. Natasha shrugged lightly. "So I guess the only dead people we're gonna know is whoever let your pig ass in the door with a weapon in the first place." Hill was watching her, very intently. Natasha became still, to give her one less thing to worry about. "I am queen of the castle, whatever you might think." _No one disrespected the Widow_. "So my unwillingness to throw my people under the bus isn't a fear of repercussions. God, it's just that I _like_ my partners, I _like_ my money, and many of my associates are very agreeable, to say the least." She sighed theatrically, and Hill narrowed her large eyes. "You can keep up the degradation, the threats, all the time that we're here, Agent, but you ain't getting anywhere. So I suggest you change tack if you want answers." Hill seemed to have had quite enough. She made a very small move, like she wanted to hit, or kick, or draw her gun, but Natasha didn't flinch. Or blink. Hill jabbed a strong finger at her.

"You want to be careful, Romanova," she whispered harshly. Of what, Natasha didn't get to find out, because the door swung right open and in walked two people: a white woman sporting the freshest, reddest lipstick Natasha had ever seen, and a tall black man with an eyepatch. An actual eyepatch.

"Agent Hill, please vacate the room," said the man. Hill looked, to put it lightly, appalled.

"Sir-"

"Didn't you hear me give you an order, Agent?" he snapped. Hill stepped to attention, nervously looking between the woman, the man, and Natasha, and then she turned on her heel and left, without returning or even acknowledging the carefully crafted smile Natasha gave her. "Agent Barton," the man barked, and the room seemed to crack in half. Natasha sat, frozen, silently wishing for a mistake or a dream or a namesake. But there was no mistaking those footsteps. Barton rounded the edge of the doorframe, still in his tie and shirt, closed the door, and took his place, back against the wall. Natasha stared, her throat turning to furious ice. Barton's face creased, like he wanted to smile. Like he was fucking with her. Like all this was an inside joke between the two of them.

"So I suppose you're the dead guy who let Hill in the door with a weapon," Natasha managed after a second, her voice calm and even, a complete oxymoron to the howling storm of her vengeful thoughts.

' _Hi, Nat_ ,' Barton signed. He used the sign for her name that he'd made up, and it just twisted the knife. Five years. Five _goddamn_ years he'd been at her side, and in the midst of betrayal, all he could manage was a twist of the knife?

' _I will kill you when I am free,_ ' Natasha signed back, quick and sharp. If she was going to bleed from this, so was he.

"Please do not threaten my Agents, Miss Romanova," said the woman crisply, having watched the exchange. English. Interesting.

"Can it pass, seeing as your Agent threatened me?" Natasha retorted. The woman ignored the question, and took three quick steps to the chair, unseen high heels clicking an efficient symphony across the floor. If Natasha hadn't been so enraged at that moment, she might have taken a second to admire this woman, her professional fashion, her sharp make up, the look on her face that said she wasn't a woman to be fucked with. The woman took a seat, slid Hill's file to the side, and looked Natasha dead in the eye. No preamble, then.

"I have made the journey from Washington to offer you a deal," the woman said. "I suggest you listen very carefully." A deal. For the first time that night, Natasha's smile was truly genuine.

∆

Maria scuffed her heel against the wall and picked at her cuticles and glanced at the door and scowled at the wall across from her. They'd been talking for almost an hour, and it needled at her that they had Barton in there instead of her. She'd been close to cracking the Widow, and then she would have lorded that over Coulson and May for the rest of her days.

She scuffed her heel again, adding to the crescent white mark of all her previous kicks. Another Agent walked past, file tucked under his arm, and Maria crossed her arms, head bent to avoid eye contact. He probably thought she was in the doghouse, damnit.

Then there was a click from the door to her left, and Barton nudged it open, nodding at her from inside. Maria stepped in. Director Carter was in the chair across from Romanova, straight-backed and pleased, from her body language, and Fury was languishing against the wall behind Romanova with his arms crossed. Romanova saw Maria and offered her a smile that was far too sly for Maria's liking. Carter twisted in her seat.

"Close the door, Agent Hill," she instructed, and Maria did as she was told. Romanova's eyes tracked her interestedly, just as they had done when she'd first walked in to interrogate her. Maria still didn't like it. "We have offered Miss Romanova a deal," Carter began, and Maria stiffened involuntarily. _No_. She'd brought the Widow in. She alone had the right to put the murdering, cheating liar of a woman behind bars. She couldn't have a deal. Romanova was smiling like she could read Maria's thoughts, and everyone else was watching her.

' _What are you looking at?_ ' Maria signed quickly to Barton, without glancing his way. He snorted indelicately, and leant back against the wall. Fury looked quickly between them.

"What's the deal?" Maria asked. Romanova's smile only widened, and Maria fought the urge to scowl at her.

"Hydra, and the group known as 'Red'. Miss Romanova has agreed to help us track and eliminate who she sees as competitors," Carter explained. Maria must have looked bewildered, because she elaborated. "Red, the Russian smuggling and trafficking ring."

"In exchange for what?" Maria replied, a little snappily. She knew who Red was. They were tangled throughout Romanova's history as easily as the blood on her hands. Romanova's eyes had taken on a little glint, but Carter dismissed the question.

"That doesn't concern you at the moment, Agent."

"I want her in jail," Maria said roughly. "She deserves to serve time!" Carter turned a long stare on her, and Maria looked down at the floor.

"I said that it does not concern you," Carter repeated. "You were instrumental in her capture, so I am sure you'll rise to the challenge once again. I have you here, along with Barton, because the people in this room, along with one or two others, are the _only_ people who will know about the following operation." Romanova's smile was now a grin, and she rattled her restraints excitedly.

"Should we start by removing my cuffs?" she said, and this time, Maria really did scowl at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know shit all about economics. Don’t hate on moi. (Although do correct me if I've done anything stupidly wrong because that's embarrassing and I'd like to avoid the embarrassment of having stupidly wrong stuff in my work pls and ty)
> 
> Also I know the middle bits are boring and I’m sorry, but ya know qu’est-ce que tu vas faire my friend?
> 
> Feedback, criticism, spelling errors, you name it, pls comment! I would be glad for reviews!


	3. Widow's Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal is sealed. The stakes are set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was inspired by a picture on Pinterest and a conversation I had with my friend. Why do I do this to myself??
> 
> P.S. I just did a loooong essay on the Romanov dynasty for my Russian History section of my class, so my autocorrect keeps making Romanova --> Romanovs or Romanov and it's dumb and I hate it: pls show me if I've put the wrong word in for Natasha's surname ty

"You have the full force of S.H.I.E.L.D at your back," the Director stated. Maria looked anywhere but at Romanova, who had been given a cigarette and freedom of her restraints, and was breathing out smoke with a very smug look on her face. "However, you will be watched and surrounded by agents _at all times_. You will not be allowed to go off on your own. Understood?"

"Yes," replied Romanova.

"You will arrange anything you need in order to help us set up the arrests of major Red and Hydra superiors. After this, you may have a reducted prison sentence." 

"I thought I'd be takin' immunity," Romanova said. The Director raised an eyebrow.

"Don't take me for a fool, Romanova. Is everything clear?"

"Crystal. Gotta couple questions, though." The Director leant back in her chair.

"Do go on."

"My spiders?"

"In holding."

"I want them out."

"Not a chance," Carter snapped. Maria felt a surge of satisfaction, still staring at the wall beside Fury's ear, but in the side of her vision, she could see the look Romanova was giving her, and she didn't like how it made her stomach wriggle. Romanova tilted her head.

"They'll behave." Carter stared her down. "I'll pay for the trouble." Still nothing gave. Romanova sighed. "They'll go straight back in afterwards."

"How much will you pay?" Fury asked. Maria frowned. Carter shot him a look, and they seemed to have a silent conversation for a second that Maria envied. They were a good duo. She wanted a partner like that. After a moment, Carter turned back to Romanova and raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. _No_. They couldn't! Quite apart from the fact that it was immoral, Maria and her team had spent six months tracking down the Widow and her associates without disturbing the web. Romanova would cheat them and escape with her spiders once it was done, and Maria couldn't have that.

"One hundred thousand dollars," Romanova pitched, and the room went very still. Carter sat, straight and prim, and narrowed her eyes.

"You can't," Maria blurted desperately. Carter studied her and pursed her lips. "Director, she'll backstab us. It's what she does. You can't!" Carter turned bodily to Barton so he could read her lips.

"What do you think?" she asked, signing out ' _She wants to pay to take her people out, then put them back in when we finish_ ,' for good measure.

"I agree with Hill," he said, and the tension in Maria's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. "The Widow cheats. I would know." Carter nodded.

"Nick?" she said, turning a dark eye on Romanova. Maria's pulse thumped. They couldn't. They _couldn't_. Fury watched Maria's pleading expression for a second, his one eye wide and white-framed and darting around her face.

"How do you intend to get the money?" he asked. Romanova sat back in her seat and drew on her cigarette, and Maria had the furiously distinct impression she was enjoying herself.

"I already have it."

"She can do it now," Barton said, at the same time, and Romanova avoided looking at him. Fury looked at Carter. And nodded. Maria clenched her jaw so hard it ached, but she held her tongue; God knew another outburst might get her sent out, and Romanova would love that.

"Who do you want out?" Fury asked, and Romanova frowned.

"All of them."

"I told you not to take me for a fool, Romanova," Carter said in a low tone. Romanova tilted her head sardonically.

"So why're you taking big ones from a Black Widow?" she teased.

"Who do you want out?" Carter repeated, and Romanova sighed.

"Parker."

"The kid?" Barton asked incredulously. Romanova didn't even look at him.

"Orlova. Stacy. Mantis. Drax." Carter wrote out a note on the inside of Maria's file, beautiful smooth cursive. Maria stewed over the exchange. It just wasn't fair. "Turgenov."

"No!" Maria exclaimed, before she could stop herself, and Carter gave her a warning glance. "Not Turgenov. Director, he's the Dynamo-"

"I know who he is," Carter replied curtly.

"We'll be tracking him down for months afterwards-" Maria tried weakly, and Carter cut her off with a wave of her manicured hand. Romanova was grinning again.

"Not Turgenov," Carter said, and Romanova's grin slid away.

"Fine. I want Lang to walk."

"Not likely," Carter said. "He's already been put in prison for multiple accounts of theft, burglary and money fraud, and he's dodged more."

"Your plan won't work if the second I step out, the Captain puts a bullet between my eyes," Romanova snapped, gesturing to her forehead with her glowing cigarette to emphasise her point. "Lang walks, or I'm dead for lettin' him get chucked in the hoosegow, and then where'd you be?" Fury raised his eyebrows at Carter, who sighed and wrote it down.

"Consider it done. How will you get the money to us?" she asked. Maria gritted her teeth, but she had to trust that Fury and Carter knew what they were doing. That was how S.H.I.E.L.D worked. Romanova brought the cigarette back to her lips.

"I'll write you a check." 

"Any other questions?" Carter asked, in a particular way that didn't seem to invite any other questions. Romanova twisted her lips into a neat little bow, and Maria realised she'd relaxed her resolute vow to not look at Romanova. She was now staring straight at her, and Romanova was looking back. Maria's gut seemed to bunch up.

"Who's on the field team?"

"Fury will run the operation through radio at base. Agent Barton will run point, along with Agents Bishop and Coulson. Agent Hill will command her team and take care of anything you need," Carter explained. Maria felt her face go a little hot, and Romanova, who had screwed her face up a little at the mention of Barton's name, was now grinning again.

"Oh, good," she said. Maria held her gaze for as long as she could, straight into Romanova's savagely green eyes.

"Settled, then?" Carter asked, reaching her hand out across the table. Romanova took one last draw on the cigarette, and then moved to shake Carter's hand. "Wonderful," said the Director. "Agent Barton, take Miss Romanova to the second floor, mission planning. Deputy, you know what to do. And Agent Hill-" Carter turned an eye on Maria, and she stepped to attention automatically, staring dumbly across at the wall- "I'd like to talk to you. Briefly." Maria nodded.

∆

"Hill, you're not known for your emotional outbursts," Carter said, leaning back in the chair, just as Fury closed the door behind him.

"No, ma'am," Maria said, through gritted teeth.

"Is this mission too much for you?" Carter probed, folding her delicate fingers together on the table.

"No, ma'am." Carter studied her, with that famous mind-reading glance.

"If it does prove to be too much..."

"It won't."

"Good. Gather your team. Dismissed." And Maria left, all her fury boiling over behind her cool façade.

∆

"This is insane," Hill said angrily, tugging on her collar. Natasha's smile widened as far as it could go. Hill was always so frustrated with her. It brought out those cute little frown creases.

“I think you look very pretty, Hill,” Barton said, reading her lips through the mirror. 

“Be quiet,” Hill snapped back, and Barton spread his hands with a grin.

“Not in my best interests, but for once I 'gree with the traitorous greaser,” Natasha interjected, reaching out to fix Hill’s collar for her. Her fingers brushed the nape of Hill’s neck accidentally-on-purpose, and Hill slapped her hands away. Natasha watched a flush recede from Hill's jaw from sheer force of will, and she smiled again.

"Hill, I've got a revolver for each of us," said another agent, walking in with four holsters. His name was...Coulson? Thinning hair, spit-polished shoes. Yeah, that one was Coulson. "Barton, here are the aids, back from R and D. Agent Fitz required you not break them again, as he 'has better things to do than clean up after Hawkeye', and I quote." Barton had his back turned, so Hill kicked his ankle and he turned around with a wounded expression. His gaze passed over Natasha's for a second, and she very firmly fixed it to stone; there was still a blade in her shoe, just for him.

"I can't wear the holster over this," Hill said, aghast, turning her head back from the mirror.

"They'll check you at the doors," Natasha said, enjoying her view of Hill's sharp jaw.

"Yeah, speaking of 'they'," started Coulson, "Who...is they, again?"

"You didn't get briefed?" Hill asked, turning the holster over in her hands. Hill's fingers on leather. Not a bad sight. Natasha inadvertently thought of the ending this mission would have, and then the one it could have, and dallied desperately in her thoughts for a second. She could still turn her plans around, if only for one small change...if only for what she wanted from Hill. No. She couldn't. She was the Widow, for God's sake. Sentimentality was not something she enjoyed.

"No, I got caught up with baby agents down on Level Four. Someone set a cupboard on fire during corridor baseball," Coulson said, shrugging off his jacket and pulling on the holster.

"We're going to see the Captain, apparently," Hill said, a touch grumpily. "Though if I'm to be there, I don't see why I have to wear this." S.H.I.E.L.D's mission tailor (Natasha wanted one. She _needed_ one) had put Hill in a glorious women's wool suit, with a necktie and a fedora, and Hill was desperately searching for a place to wear her holster.

"Need some help, Hill?" Natasha said. Hill ignored her, and Natasha sighed. "If you're in the Mafia, baby, you gotta dress like it. That's why." Hill ignored her, still. "I hope your team's dressed for the occasion, huh?"

"This is insane," Hill whined again, and Barton, now with his ears in, rolled his eyes and huffed.

"When has anything ever gone wrong, Hill?"

"Remember when the tech girl Skye was thrown out of a window on a non-violent op?" Hill challenged.

"That was your fault, you threatened to shoot the guy holding her hostage!"

"He wouldn't have been holding her hostage in the first place if you'd followed orders, Barton!" Hill snapped.

"Hey!" interjected Coulson, stepping bodily between the two of them. Natasha could practically taste the anxiety and tension among the agents. This must be important for them. Coulson looked between Hill and Barton placatingly. "We don't do blame games here. Everybody take a step back, and re-evaluate, okay? Hill?"

"We're trusting a liar and a murderer," Hill growled.

"God, your last words'll probably be 'I told you so', huh?" replied Barton, crossing his arms. Hill grunted, but Coulson held up a hand and she backed off, her frown lines deepening like crevices.

"This is not a time to be arguing, guys," Coulson cajoled. "I know you're all panicked about the mission. For the love of God, we have to stick to protocol and friendship right now, okay? This is big." Natasha looked between all of them with pretend trepidation, and Hill caught it and her lip twisted in a sneer.

"The hell are you looking at?" she snapped roughly, and she left to the private changing room with a sweep and a huff.

"Interesting team dynamic," Natasha noted, to no one in particular.

"Still better than murdering people when they don't get it right the first time, though, isn't it?" Coulson piped up, and Natasha turned a sharp gaze on him. He held it, without giving anything, and when she finally looked away, Natasha made a note to herself. _Coulson knows what he's doing._

∆

Her mission, her whole operation, her entire _objective_ throughout this whole thing would be to stay by Romanova's side and monitor and approve every action. Maria would rather have asked for a slap in the face.

Her team didn't seem to mind, though. The Director had decreed that she only take a chosen few, and so Maria had picked out Morse, Lumley and May, and all of them seemed happy enough to play babysitter to the most infuriating woman in the world.

Romanova had insisted that the Captain would become suspicious at any slight change from normality, so after much argument and taunting and baiting from Romanova, Maria caved and they returned to Romanova's home to retrieve her car. And it _was_ a nice car, to be fair.

Romanova, in her two-piece suit and white gloves, refreshed curls and a hat with a sprig of netting, laid a careful hand on the hood of the car with an air of complete adoration: it was a sleek, beautiful Alfa Romeo Freccia d'Oro: a 5-seat Berlina with a two and half liter, six-cylinder engine that developed 90 hp and allowed it to reach a top speed of 155 kilometres per hour, all according to the information Romanova lovingly muttered under her breath. Maria took note of the license plate as Lumley checked the car for bombs and bugs, and Morse and May stood like sentries either side of Romanova.

"We're good," Agent Lumley said, circling back to the driver's side. "No bugs, no cameras, no explosives, ma'am." 

"Good," Maria said. "Romanova, where are we going? Agent May, relay to point team as she speaks." May pulled her radio from her pocket and raised it to her mouth, and they all waited for Romanova to speak.

"I hope you're hungry, Hill," said Romanova with a suggestive wink. Maria stared back, unimpressed. "Tommaso, Dyker Park. Best Italian in New York. Also coinciden'ally, a favourite haunt of the Captain and his associates."

May relayed it in short tones down the radio to Agent Bishop, who responded with a quick, "Affirmative. ETA ten minutes. We have Parker, Orlova, Stacy, Mantis and Drax. Confirm ETA, over."

"What kind of a name is Mantis?" Morse muttered to Lumley, who laughed, as May barked back their arrival time. Romanova watched the two grinning agents with narrowed eyes, and Maria stepped a little closer. 

"Gettin' cosy?" Romanova asked, eyes still flickering between Lumley and Morse. 

"Just a warning," Maria replied, gritting her teeth. She'd had just about enough of Romanova's taunts and teasing. She jerked her head at the car. "Get in, then." Romanova reached for the driver side handle, and Maria frowned and moved in front of her. Romanova raised an eyebrow. There was a long, dangerous pause.

"If you think I'm lettin' you take the wheel, Hill, you've got another thing comin'," Romanova said, barely more than a growl.

"I validate all your actions, Romanova," Maria said, basking in the satisfaction that Romanova's glower was giving her. "So if I say you're not driving-" she leant forwards, reached around Romanova's waist, and pried her fingers from the handle- "that means that you're not driving. Alright?" Romanova wasn't flushed, exactly. More like stonily pink. Maria allowed herself a twisted half-smile. "Now get in. Passenger side, if you please."

Driving Romanova's pride and joy of an automobile through the dirty morning traffic of New York was perhaps the most smug moment of Maria's life. The car drove beautifully, but exponentially more satisfying than the response of the engine was Romanova's relentless scowl as she sat curved into the plush passenger seat.

Maria ran a changing yellow light, zipping through the intersection and barely avoiding a car coming abreast of them, who honked indignantly. Romanova swore in a language Maria didn't understand and folded her fingers tightly together. Maria had the distinct impression that Romanova was plotting how to get back at her. Because that was what they had made this, whatever _this_ was. A game of slap-jab responses. She just had to make sure it didn't go too far.

They pulled up to Tommaso, and Romanova directed her into the alley in the right, which led into a little dirt car park behind the building. Maria killed the engine and May and Morse stepped out to case the car park as Lumley kept an eye from inside.

"Clear, Agent Hill," May called.

"Clear," said Morse.

"Good to go," said Lumley. Romanova raised her eyebrows.

"Efficient," she observed. Maria reached across and opened the door for Romanova.

"Get out."

"Chivalrous, ain't you?" muttered Romanova, but she got out, rearranging her hat and gloves.

"May, radio to Agent Bishop. Tell her to park across the street from Tommaso and keep her eyes open," Maria said, climbing out and shutting the door. She tossed Romanova's keys to her, ignoring the way Romanova was looking her up and down. 

"So, how's it going down?" Morse asked, checking her hair in the reflection of the window. Romanova pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, put it in her mouth, and took a draw, all without answering. Lumley put his hands in his pockets, where Maria knew he hid a pistol. May looked from Maria to Romanova and back again.

"No need to get hostile, Agent," Romanova said, nodding to Lumley's pocket. "The mission's barely even begun." Lumley blinked, and withdrew his hand, hesitantly. Romanova looked around at all of them, studiously. "I'll talk to the Captain. Hill, you can sit on my left. Mister Pistols can stand behind us. You- what's your name?" She gestured at May with the end of her cigarette. May looked at Maria. Maria nodded.

"Agent May."

"May, you're a new spider. Behind my left shoulder. You, Morse, right? You can watch my car." Maria boiled at the orders that Romanova was giving her team, but at least they all looked over at her to check first. She gave each of them a stiff nod, and then Romanova stomped out her cigarette, smoothed out her gloves, and swanned towards the entrance of Tommaso.

∆

Maria didn't know what she'd been expecting from the Captain. A slinky guy in a suit with a god complex, maybe. Not a huge hunk of muscle with a strong jaw and a stronger glare. Tommaso was empty aside from the Captain at his table and his associates standing beside and behind him. He was leant back in his seat, nonchalantly stirring a fork in his pasta, a perpetually bored expression on his handsome face. 

They were checked at the door that they came in by a stocky white man with spectacular sideburns and a wave of brown hair, and a slim woman with silver tattoos on her cheekbones and bright green eyeshadow. Maria noted that all of the men were wearing peaked caps, and the woman had her hair twisted into complicated braids, flat against her head. Black, dyed an ombre red throughout. A mark of the Avengers, then. Just the name made her want to shiver.

They didn't find any weapons. The tailors did their jobs well.

Romanova greeted the Captain with a kiss, and then she sat down, tugged off her gloves, and motioned for Maria to slide onto the bench beside her. Lumley and May took their places, and the Captain watched them all with a very unimpressed air.

"New spiders?" he asked. "What happened to Parker? Kinda liked the kid." Brooklyn accent. Very strong. Maria added it to her growing list of mental notes.

"He's around somewhere," Romanova replied. A waiter set a drink down in front of Romanova and moved off. She stared at it.

"I'm not gonna poison you, Natasha," the Captain replied with a mirthless laugh. Still, she didn't touch it, so he quirked an eyebrow, reached for the drink, and gulped it down himself. "Whee-ow. Nice. So, I heard you got jumped."

"I got myself out of it," Romanova said, removing her hat and patting down her curls.

"So I see. You sent me back Bucky. But-" he leant forwards and rested his forearms on the table- "'Cha didn't send me Lang. Why's that?"

"He's out, don't you worry." The Captain pursed his lips, and Romanova rolled her eyes. "Word from the bird, Stevie. Pinky promise." 

"Alright. I'll hold you to it." His gaze flickered over Maria for a second, and she didn't drop her eyes from his stare for even a moment. "Whaddaya want, then?"

"I need to talk to Barnes."

"Talk to me," said the Captain.

"It's about Hydra and Red," Romanova said, and the Captain's eyes went from hard to furious in less than a second. Maria shifted her jacket to the side carefully, her revolver in easy reach. Four associates, and the Captain. She could incapacitate them: bullets to the shoulders, legs, hips. Five murderers in jail in one day. But Romanova didn't seem to realise the Captain's anger. "Like I said," she carried on, "I need to talk to Barnes." The Captain studied her for a very long time, and Romanova sat there, unbothered.

"He's with Tony," the Captain said, finally, through gritted teeth.

"I thought they hated each other?"

"With the fantastic breach you had, I gotta take some precautions, right? Can't lose my best soldier."

"Wasn't my fault," Romanova replied, obviously stung. Or maybe not. Maria could barely read her. The Captain chuckled.

"Never is, huh? Always some else's slip up, yeah?" He leant forward even more, tilting his head. "The Black Widow never fails," he hissed. Romanova hit him so hard and fast, Maria didn't even see it, and the next second, the four men behind the Captain had pistols and revolvers and shotguns pointed right at them. May went for her weapon and Maria twisted in her seat.

"Stand down," she snapped in Mandarin, and reluctantly, May returned to her standing position.

The Captain rubbed his jaw and grinned nastily.

"There I was thinking Natasha gave the orders," he said, turning a freezing stare on Maria. Maria didn't reply. His eyes were like ice.

"I do," Romanova replied, ignoring the weapons trained on her. "And you won't shoot me."

"Won't I?"

"Barnes," Romanova demanded.

"I told you where he was," the Captain snapped. "Now get the hell out."

"Steve," Romanova said placatingly, "this is more'n you think."

"Don't cajole me, Widow. You just disrespected almost every rule of negotiation I have. Leave, before I-"

"You're lying," Romanova snapped. "This will be your funeral. Hydra's more of a threat than you think, and Red joined with them? They'll be kings before you've even raised your goddamn head." The Captain stared at her.

"I'm not lyin'. He's with the Mechanic."

"You're a _terrible_ liar," Romanova hissed. "Are you gonna listen to me or not?" The Captain slammed a hand down on the table suddenly, upsetting his plate, a terrible scowl marring his strong face.

"You're forgetting where you came from, Natasha."

"I'm not _from_ anywhere," she snarled.

"The Avengers built you from nothing."

"The Avengers almost _killed_ me!"

" _I_ built you from nothin', dammit! You'd be long gone without me!"

"Where is Barnes?" Romanova said through gritted teeth. Maria's fingers itched towards her revolver. The situation was getting volatile. Morse was still outside, waiting. Probably being watched. The Captain breathed heavily through his nose. Romanova sat back, folding her gloves into little rectangles. "You know I wouldn't be here unless it was important," she said.

"I know you wouldn't be here unless you wanted something," the Captain muttered, brushing his fingers over his bruising jaw.

"Steve," Romanova said, and there was care injected into her voice. She had a past with this man, Maria knew. Complicated. But they trusted each other, somewhat. Maria knew everything. "You gotta help me." The Captain lifted his eyes to Romanova, and something unspoken passed between them.

"Alright," he said, after a heavy moment. "Stand down, boys." The men behind him lowered their weapons, a little reluctantly. "Strange, I want you to take Romanova to see Barnes. Vision, prep the others. Get Jane and Pepper over to Tony's, a'ight? Thor, you take Matt with ya to Harlem, to the king, and ask for Okoye. We're gonna need her. Wilson, with me." The Captain stood, wiping his fingers on his napkin. "Where's the car?"

"Out back," Romanova said. "One more thing I gotta say, though." The Captain tilted his head. "These aren't spiders. They're blues." The Captain looked at Maria. At May. At Lumley. Nothing gave. He shrugged.

"Kinda figured that out myself. They your deal outta jail?"

"Outta life sentence, more like," Romanova said, but there was a smile on her face that Maria didn't like. The Captain looked them over once more, lingering on Maria.

"Yeah. You're too straight-stacked to be in this business," he said with a laugh. Maria tightened her jaw and didn't reply.

"There's a vehicle 'cross the street with some of my people, plus Lang," Romanova explained, and Steve nodded.

"Be good to have him back. Let's get on it, huh?"

∆

Parker was an odd kid. Too bouncy to be serious, grinning all the time, calling people 'ma'am' and 'sir' and 'miss'. He hugged Romanova when he saw her, and Maria had a stab of 'he's just a kid' thrust into her stomach when he shook her hand with a polite smile. 

"Parker, give the nice lady back her badge," warned Mantis, and Parker rolled his eyes and produced Maria's badge from his pocket with a wickedly fast smile. Maria blinked, scowled, snatched back the badge and ignored Lumley's grin.

Drax was even odder. Strong, silent, and weirdly well-spoken for a guy in the Mafia. Orlova was a scruffy kid in boy's clothes: suspenders and pants and shirtsleeves. Lang was shifty, wandering gazes and lockpick's hands shoved into pockets. Gwen Stacy was graceful and elegant and acted too old to be the kid that she was.

"Ragtag bunch, much?" Morse muttered to Lumley, who grinned wider. Then Romanova scowled at them and their laughs chattered into silence.

Rocket was the strangest of the lot. Small, bearded, foul tempered. He lived in a garage with very clean floors and very grimy windows. He had a wrench in his hand the whole time, spinning it through his skinny fingers, and his eyelids were blue and bruised like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Where the hell's Quill?" he rasped, as soon as they stepped through the door of the garage. Strange, the tall man with the wicked goatee who'd led them here, raised his eyebrows.

"Otherwise occupied," he replied. "We need Barnes."

"Well, you can stuff it then," yowled Rocket. "Captain's orders. And the Mechanic ain't here, Parker, so there ain't no one you can fawn over. Shouldn't ya be in school?" Parker shrugged.

"Shouldn't you be in a garbage heap somewhere?"

"Oh, you insolent little-" and he leapt, but Strange caught him round the middle and shoved him into his rickety desk. Bottles and equipment rattled to the floor, and Rocket slumped, got to his feet, and rubbed his head, baring pointed teeth.

"The Captain gave us permission," Strange said. "You wanna cross his new orders?" Rocket grunted.

"Who's them?" he asked, pointing a sharp nail at Maria and Morse. She'd left the others outside as posts, and Coulson was circling the block in the point car.

"Blues," Romanova replied, stepping through the crowd. Rocket took a step back and bumped into the desk.

"Widow," he growled.

"That's me," she said coolly. "I just had a talk with your boss, buddy. And I need to talk to Barnes."

"You said they were blues?" Rocket snapped.

"Collateral," lied Romanova. Maria exchanged a look with Morse. Romanova could never be trusted. So why was she protecting them?

"Barnes?" Strange prompted.

"This about Red?" Rocket asked, stomping around the desk.

"It is," said Romanova, checking her gloves.

"Why dontcha ask the Wolverine?" he growled.

"Professor Xavier asked me to keep the X out of this after last time," Romanova replied, flicking a stray curl behind her shoulder. Rocket chuckled.

"Heh...yeah. Where is that damn-" _Thunk_. There was a series of creaks and metal screeches, and then in the middle of the floor, a square section sank down and slid away to the side. Maria watched with wide eyes. No freaking way. "Barnes? Your girl wants to talk to ya." There was the irregular sound of a heavy man clumping his way up an unsteady ladder, and then the infamous Winter Soldier appeared from the trapdoor, hair slicked back, in vest and pants and jacket, his prosthetic arm gripping the side of the trapdoor opening. Maria stared, again.

"Which girl?" he asked, his head turned towards Rocket. His accent was even stronger than the Captain's. Then he looked around, as he was pulling himself from the trapdoor, and he saw Romanova. And his face dropped. "Oh," he said. "You."

"Hello, James." She didn't look very impressed. "I've come about Red." Barnes blinked.

"You what- you talked to Steve? Did you?" He went from confused to frowning to angry faster than a traffic light changing, and Romanova held up a placating hand.

"He's cool with it. One more thing, though- Rocket, has Yelena been here?"

"She came by," Rocket said, picking things up from the floor. "Went to go see Parker's girl. Then she said she was gonna crash with that Nakia until you dug yourself out."

"Awesome," Romanova said, smiling. Maria had a horrible feeling that everything was going Romanova's way. "James?" Barnes looked from Strange to Romanova to Rocket, the anger melting back to a soft frown.

"Well, if Steve said-"

"He did."

"If it's important-"

"It is."

"For you?" he asked softly. Romanova smiled wider.

"For me. You in? We've got quite a force on our side."

"I- if it'll...end them. Only then."

"Those are exactly my intentions," Romanova said, and Barnes copied her smile.

"Well, alright then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! God it's so long 😂 X
> 
> Also unrelated but u know when ur scrolling down tiktok and there's an ALM one just popping up on your fyp and you're waiting for the sike like 👁️👄👁️,,,, and it never comes
> 
> And
> 
> And,,,
> 
> And then ur sitting there wondering how to hunt em down n set a fire under they wee racist arse?
> 
> Hahahaha yeah....


	4. Widow's Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You never know who your enemy is, until their final move is made." - Mr Bliss, Skulduggery Pleasant, Derek Landy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never been to New York, so everything pertaining to it is written from my extensive research 😂 correct me if anything’s wrong please
> 
> Also I've recently discovered the trans!Peter Parker headcanon and I have to say I love it! Would anyone be up for it if I made a oneshot about trans Peter??
> 
> lmk if you think you'd like me to do one!! (Or maybe multi chapter...😂but I do kinda have to finish the Enlightenment first bc it's bugging me)

They returned to Romanova's headquarters, a network of rooms in the cellar of an unused dance theatre, where Yelena Belova was waiting, along with the man named Matt. Maria noted his shaded glasses and stick, and was looking him over a second time when Belova pounced, faster than a blur, a knife in hand and a murderous expression on her face. Maria barely had time to dodge, a reflex the only thing keeping her back from the sudden flash of the blade. 

"Stand down!" Romanova snapped, and just as Maria slapped away the knife and moved to hit Belova, the other woman slid back obediently. Maria's punch struck empty air, and she stumbled a little before righting herself. Romanova spared her a single glance, then turned to the group of spiders at large. "Hill and her people are under protection," she barked. "Under no circumstances will ya hurt them. Understood?" Silence. Romanova nodded. "Alright then. Matt, you brought Okoye?" Matt nodded and tapped his stick on the floor, and Okoye materialised from the side door. She seemed to be perpetually glaring: a dangerous looking, lithe woman wearing a headwrap and colourful trousers and two rings on each hand. She was sharply beautiful and Maria barely even wanted to look her in the eye. 

"Widow," she said coldly. "I am here on the King's orders."

"Ginchie," Romanova replied, equally coolly. "Alright, listen up, kiddos. Here's the plan."

She briefed the small crowd of outlaws for about half an hour, right up until the side door to the room opened once more, and Parker stepped in, looking harried.

"It's Vanko, Miss," he panted. "He got away. Wants to see ya."

"Son of a bitch," Romanova growled, and Maria could practically feel her anger emanating off her. 

"Don't do anything stupid, Romanova," she warned. Romanova offered her a nasty smile.

"You wanna see stupid?" she snapped. "Come on, then. Parker, let's go." She swept out, and Maria followed with trepidation as she stormed through the rooms and up the stairs to the clean theatre. There stood a silhouette, a stooped shadow in the harsh light. Vanko, a man with long, greasy hair and scabby clothes, round-shouldered and haggard. There was a bottle in his hand. Blood running from his nose. Maria looked at Parker, and his right fist was spattered with red. "Vanko," Romanova said, dangerously low.

"Widow," he said, bowing shakily. "I am returned." He had a very strong accent: rustily Russian.

"So I see. What do ya want?"

"I- I am here to serve you," he replied, and one eye darted from Romanova to Parker. "Your boy did not believe me."

"Probably because you're a liar," Romanova replied coldly. "And a traitor. And a coward." Vanko cowered slightly as Romanova approached him, the tap of her shoes echoing daintily across the stage.

"No," he whimpered. "No, Widow. I serve you." Maria frowned, a hand slipping into her jacket for her revolver, but then Parker snatched at her wrist with a small hand, and a devilishly vice-like grip.

"Don't," he warned. His voice creaked a bit, but his eyes were like blades, and Maria removed her hand from her jacket. He relaxed his grip, if only slightly.

"Turgenov doesn't believe you," Romanova pitched, and Vanko's eyes bugged a little. Romanova smiled, twisted. "You little sonofabitch. You thought you could get away with it?"

"Widow, please..."

"Romanova," Maria warned, getting increasingly nervous. Romanova didn't hear her.

"Get on your knees, Vanko," she spat. Vanko sank to the floor, trembling.

"Mercy," he whimpered.

"No such thing in this house," Romanova replied, and she pulled a revolver from nowhere and _BANG, BANG, BANG_ , shot Vanko point blank three times into the head. Maria reeled backwards, her ears ringing. Vanko slumped, and a pool of dark red started to slide across the shining planks of the stage. Romanova watched Vanko bleed out for a second, then put her gun away and cocked a darkened eye over at Maria. "What's the matter, Hill?" she taunted. Maria's heart slammed against her chest, trembling, and something screamed inside her to run. She took a single step backwards.

"I didn't authorise that," Maria choked, her eyes wide as Vanko's dead body oozed blood before her.

"Then you're in for a goddamn surprise," Romanova replied evenly. "Parker, clear this up. We move out at noon."

∆

She had thought that Hill's righteously shocked face would have been more satisfying. But as Vanko spread his traitorous lifeblood over her clean stage, Natasha had the sudden urge to turn Hill away. Protect her shard-filled, horror-wide dark eyes from the necessary atrocities of Natasha's own life. Shield her from the blood, from the death on Natasha's hands, the red in her ledger.

Then Hill's face turned cold, disgusted, as she looked from dead Vanko to Natasha and the spray of blood on her pale wrist and the smudge of red on her shoe. Natasha let anger twist her throat to spit a curse at Hill and an order at Peter, and then she turned away.

∆

"Agent Hill, just a warning: we have possible minors in play by the opposition," called Bishop from the front seat of the van. Hill checked her watch and then the map of the docks, and the van rumbled over a pothole, juddering them all in the back of the van. Lumley and Morse had their weapons trained at Natasha, utterly still and drilling her with twin stares.

"How do we know?" Hill asked, looking up.

"Barton's on the radio. Him and Coulson've been accosted at the docks, they were casing up. May arrived, they've got 'em in custody." Natasha frowned. Minors? Must be under-eighteens. She searched her memory for all the things she had on Red and Hydra, sifting through the dead and the missing and the in debt, and-- 

"The Maximoffs," she muttered. Hill swung around to look at her. Her eyes were too sharp. They cut through Natasha like radioactive beams.

"What?" she snapped. Natasha looked away, at the map of the docks.

"The Maximoffs," she repeated. "Red's a smuggling ring, remember? They're refugees from Stalin's Russia. Red shipped them over, took their money and pushed them Hydra's way. Twins. The boy was gonna be a track runner, 'til his dad was chucked in a gulag." Hill glared at her, and Natasha waited for the morally correct lecture, but instead, Hill just turned back to Bishop.

"Put Barton on," she said.

"Yes, ma'am." There was a crackle from the radio, then a click, and Barton's voice issued from the front of the van.

"Hill."

"Talk to me."

"Their names are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. The boy's damn fast and the girl's a little freaky."

"Can you get them to the backup trucks?"

"We'll have to walk, the girl blew up Coulson's car," Barton replied, his voice fuzzing with feedback. Hill cringed and Lumley snorted. "Yeah, he's beyond pissed."

"Alright. Stay where you are, take cover. We've got-" she checked her watch again, and Natasha tracked every movement, memorised it- "Twenty minutes before Red and Hydra superiors arrive."

"We got a name? A plan?"

"Absolutely," Hill said, stiffly, not even casting Natasha a glance. "Romanova's going to talk her way out of getting killed. And I'll be right there beside her." Hill did glare at her this time, and Natasha relished it. There was silence from the radio for a second.

"And you'll be with her?" came the voice from the front, but it wasn't Barton anymore.

"I can't trust her," Hill replied. "It's not your call, May."

"No. It's Coulson's."

"He's not in a fit state to make calls," muttered Lumley, and Morse held back a laugh.

"Be quiet," Hill snapped, and their faces slid back to professionalism immediately. "I don't need jokes right now." She turned back to the radio. "Coulson?"

"Why do you need to stay with her?" asked Coulson, and his voice was a little stony. Lumley and Morse exchanged a glance. 

"I can't trust her," Hill replied. Natasha held back a smile.

"Why not?" Hill hesitated, weighing up the options. Natasha tilted her head, eyes wide, and Hill stared at her for a second before ripping her gaze away.

"She killed someone," she growled. There was silence from the radio.

"On your watch?"

"Yes." More silence.

"Agent Hill, I don't want to say that you only had one job-"

"Coulson-"

"I'm speaking." Coulson's voice was ice cold. "I'm running point here, I don't care what level either of us are. If we weren't twenty minutes away from taking down both Red and Hydra, I'd have you off this mission, without hesitation." Morse and Lumley were sharing more looks, and Hill was ramrod straight and burning red. Natasha tried not to smile. Humiliation was a nice look on Hill, from Natasha's perspective. Pay her back for landing her in this entire mess.

"Yes, _sir_." Hill sounded sour and her lips twisted, polite and damning. She looked at Natasha, but there was no fear, no shock, no calculation. Raw anger. S.H.I.E.L.D meant everything to Hill, obviously.

"You'll be right beside her this whole time. Don't leave her alone. Don't let her run. And _don't let her kill another human being again_ ," Coulson growled, and then there was a scuffle of noise, and Barton's voice issued through the radio again.

"Futz. Where the hell are my-"

"Barton, you're speaking through the radio," Bishop said, spinning the wheel and swinging the heavy van around a corner. Natasha gripped the edge of her seat and craned her neck to look out the windscreen. Lumley levelled his rifle at her head, and Morse narrowed her eyes; Natasha took the hint and sank back against the wall of the van.

"Yeah, I know. Look, Hill, it's alright. We've all done dumb shit on missions. Remember Tokyo?" Hill snorted without humour.

"You get the prize for that," she mumbled, twitching the map towards her over the table. Barton sighed.

"It's okay, you know? What about Whitehall? Fury had you in isolation for a month and a half. We almost got a court date. You can never mess up worse than that." Hill burned a deeper colour, and Natasha whipped her head around, sensing an angle.

"Whitehall? That was you?" Hill didn't answer. Natasha chanced a look at Lumley and Morse, both of whom were wearing deadly expressions. Daring her to slip down the wrong way. "He died in his study. Stabbed in the throat. Nasty." She smiled, her favourite ploy: just the right mix of taunting and wicked that she knew would break Hill's silence. She had this down to a science.

"Don't play Saint, Romanova," Hill growled. Lumley's hands twitched around his rifle, and Natasha slumped into her seat, looking Hill over.

"I'm not. I'm not even judging you," she purred, lowering her eyelids. "I've done far worse things." A smile like the shell of a bullet. "Just surprised." She gave a minuscule shrug, and Hill's jaw clenched hard. 

"Don't push your luck," Hill replied coldly, and she rose and climbed her way into the front without a look back. Lumley didn't relax his stance. Neither did Natasha.

∆

They were late. She'd known they would be late; she knew everything that was going to happen, because she knew everyone and she had thought like them, moved like them, played like them.

They were to be meeting Romulus, Niko, and Strucker, and Natasha was very much not looking forward to it. The Avengers would be on hand nearby with S.H.I.E.L.D back-up, Peter and Ava were slipped into the ranks of Hydra and Red to get a spy's perspective and confirm or deny whether Natasha would be backstabbed. She thought it was pretty likely.

Hill had her revolver trained unwaveringly on Natasha. That stoic resolve, steely professionalism. She was masking herself, feigning stiffness, and Natasha didn't _want_ that. She wanted to see Maria, not Agent Hill. Her team respected her. Natasha had seen both Morse and Lumley take a literal step back when Hill had offered them just one scorching glare, back when they'd been loading things into the van and muttering about Natasha's associates. Now, though, there was no one for Hill to wall out except Natasha.

Lumley and Bishop had gone to scope out the docks one last time, which would take them a while, and Morse had reluctantly left a while ago on Hill's orders to help out with the Maximoff prisoners. She was alone with Hill in the van, and she planned to have some fun.

∆

Maria, usually, could wait for hours. Stakeouts with Barton had always been her speciality, but this...this was something else.

She had been sitting in a re-purposed milk van across from Natalia Romanova for _an hour_ so far. And she was slowly losing her mind.

"I'm glad you lot agreed to get me back my spiders," Romanova was saying. Maria had, so far, managed not to snap back, but that really was the last straw.

"I wish we hadn't," she growled. Romanova smiled hungrily.

"It's paying your salary, Hill."

"I don't want your dirty money."

"You're not just getting dirty money outta this, baby," Romanova said with a laugh. "You're gettin' a couple'a enemies, too." Maria looked at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, genuinely curious. The way she saw it, if they won she'd be putting a lot of murderers behind bars. If they lost, she'd be dead. No other way to go about it.

"Someone always gets away," Romanova said wistfully, resting her head back against the wall of the van. "I would know." She offered Maria a little smile. "I got away from them."

"So did Barnes and Logan," Maria replied. "You're not special.

"And Orlova. And Yelena."

"What about Hydra?"

"Oh, Hydra are slippery. They're clever."

"How so?" Maria pressed. Romanova gave her a look from the side of her eye, world-weary and dark.

"I guess you'll have to find out." Romanova nodded to Maria's hand, and she realised with a jolt that she'd dropped her revolver, and was now aiming loosely at the ground. She jerked the barrel up, to pin the aim right on Romanova's face, and Romanova rolled her eyes. "We won't get anywhere if you don't drop your guard, Hill." Maria ignored her teasing tone.

"I know more about you than you think, Romanova," she said coldly. Romanova quirked one perfect eyebrow.

"Oh? Do tell."

"I know why they call you the Widow." To Maria's surprise, Romanova just let out a hiss of disappointed air and settled her head back against the van wall with a _thunk_.

"No, ya don't."

"Alexi Shostakov." Maria looked at Romanova, but she was staring, expressionlessly, at the ribbed van ceiling.

"You can stop talking, Hill," Romanova managed after a while.

"I thought you wanted us to get somewhere," Maria replied. Romanova moved in an instant and a rustle of clothing, and in half a second, she was on Maria's side of the van. Maria brought up her revolver just in time and Romanova stopped, with a harsh jerk, the end of the gun digging into her jacket. She hung over Maria like she was balanced on the barrel of the gun. Their faces were inches away. Her breath was hot on Maria's cheek. Romanova reached out slowly and braced her arm on the wall behind Maria's head, and then she leant down ever so slowly. Maria watched those savage eyes, but Romanova's face was still palely blank. Romanova dipped her head, until her lips were level with Maria's ear, and Maria felt a semblance of a shiver shock into her brain: just like the first time. She still remembered what Romanova had said.

 _"You should never turn you back on a Black Widow, baby."_ And she hadn't yet.

"Don't push your luck," Romanova hissed. The sound flooded Maria's head, along with the heat of Romanova's body so close to her, the brush of a red curl on Maria's skin. She barely focused on the words, but then Romanova was gone, the pressure of her body on the gun was gone, the whisper and the warmth and the touch was gone, and Maria realised only then that she could breathe properly. She tried not to gasp for air, but she couldn't remember when Romanova's presence had stopped her from breathing. She'd been too caught up in the flowery sweep of Romanova's perfume. 

Romanova slumped back into her seat, relaxed again, but her eyes were now fixed adamantly on Maria's. Maria could barely stare back. That look could cut her, and she felt as if she'd just bleed out into the fraught silence between them, staining it a delicate, frothy pink. Her heart was beating far too fast to be innocent.

"So, why _do_ they call you the Black Widow?" Maria probed. Romanova twitched in annoyance, but didn't answer. Maria felt a surge of anger. Romanova had killed a man on her watch and grinned while Coulson had told her off in front of her team, so Maria owed her something. "I thought it was because you killed your husband-"

"Shut the fuck up," Romanova snarled, going terrifyingly quickly from blank to furious. Maria smiled. Romanova's chest rose with a breath, and then she pushed herself to her feet and stalked Maria down once more, shrugging out of her jacket. There were two patches of pink high on her cheeks. Maria tried to push down the heat climbing her face as Romanova got closer, but she didn't succeed, and Romanova paused. Smiled. Not a real smile. "If you ever talk about Alexi again," she started, and her voice was a beautiful baritone, "or ever think you know more than I have let you find out-" she reached out, closed her fingers around the barrel of Maria's revolver, twisted it violently from her fingers and slammed a palm into Maria's chest- "I swear, I'll kill you." The painful imprint of Romanova's hand on her bone bloomed for a second, then faded. Maria waited. Romanova watched her with hungry eyes. 

Maria lunged for the revolver, Romanova brought a knee into her stomach and Maria folded with a pained gasp, then Romanova shot the heel of her palm into Maria's chin. Her head rocked back, sound thickening in her ears, and she pretending to slump sideways. Romanova stepped back, cautiously, the revolver dangling from her fingers, and then Maria seized her chance, rolled forwards and snatched back the weapon, brought it up with a click to aim straight at Romanova's forehead. The fight stilled.

"What are you gonna do with that, Hill?" The anger in the air had dissipated. Now, there was just a slight frisson of chance. Caution. Whoever would make the first move. Maria pressed the revolver against Romanova's skin and managed to draw down a cool, steely façade over the thoughts that made her want to do extremely stupid things.

"Try me," she panted.

"I have," Romanova replied icily. "And all you did was try ta push my buttons."

"You started it," Maria taunted, before she could stop herself, and a hint of a smile flew fast across Romanova's lips. Romanova raised a pale hand, very slowly, to close around the cylinder with a light click.

"Put the gun down, Hill."

"I'm here to supervise you, not take orders from you."

"And you've done a wonderful job so far, eh?" A surge of anger writhed in Maria's stomach and she pressed the gun harder against Romanova's forehead. So she was back to baiting her. 

"You're despicable," Maria said, without conviction. Romanova batted her eyelashes. "Step back." Thankfully, Romanova shrugged and removed her hand from the revolver, curling it into a fist, and moving away. Maria didn't lower her gun.

"Put it down, baby," Romanova crooned, taking one more step back.

"Call me baby one more time," Maria snapped, and the spark of useless anger returned. Romanova smiled, a flash of white teeth.

"Okay, baby." She held her fist high and drew back her fingers, and six bullets clattered to the floor of the van. Maria blinked, realisation clearing her red vision, and she checked the revolver's cylinder with quick fingers. Empty. Romanova looked like she was holding back a laugh, but Maria was tired and frustrated and not in the mood to play anymore.

"Sit down."

"Make me." Maria crossed the van in two quick steps, tossing the revolver aside, reached for Romanova's elbow, twisted it to the side and slammed her face first into the wall of the van. Romanova went completely slack and Maria, with a stab of triumph, wrangled Romanova's arm behind her back forcefully.

"I told you to try me," she hissed, leaning in. Romanova's eyes were burning a glare into the wall. Maria waited a few more seconds, and then she let Romanova go with a shove and a twist of her arm. "Now sit down."

∆

Niko Constantin was heavily muscled and craggy, long legs and arms and hollow dark eyes. He strode ahead of Romulus, who was similarly large, his square face fixed in an old scowl. Both men had their grey coat collars turned up against the chilled breeze coming from the sea behind them. Romanova stood still with her gloves hands laid delicately on top of one another and behind her left shoulder, Belova clicked her neck and her knuckles, hair scraped back, ready for a fight. Maria stood at Romanova's other side, hands in her pockets, and cold, deadly Okoye observed from directly behind Romanova. Maria ignored the looks Constantin was throwing her way, suspicious and wary. He walked bow-legged and uneasy, his feet silent and side-to-side.

The Red Hook docks were getting cold and grey with the sinking sun, and so the approaching party were just more than dusky silhouettes. They stopped in front of the low brick wall barring entrance to the water, and Constantin tipped his hat to Romanova.

“Hey, Nikki,” Romanova said, playfully. “How you doin’?” He observed her for a tight second before answering.

“Can’t we get this over with?” His voice was deep and prowling, shock-full of a thick Russian accent. He went back to staring at Maria for a second. Not a good sign.

“Where’s Strucker?” Romanova challenged. Constantin shrugged. 

“Late. Wants to look important. I see you didn’t deign to bring Barnes.”

“Because I knew you’d be on him in half a second and everything’d go to shit. I know you well enough.”

“Not anymore.” His hard gaze was back on Romanova, and she tilted her head, almost invitingly. 

“Where’re the Wolf Spiders? The Lupines, Rommie? Hiding around somewhere?” She made a show of tipping forwards and craning to see into the windows of the large building bordering the path that the two men had walked down.

“We honour our agreements,” spat the man named Romulus, before Constantin could say anything. “Where’s the Wolverine?” Romanova gave him a hard look.

“The X are staying out of this.” Romulus grinned with a mouth full of bad teeth, and ran a finger over his fist. Maria squinted through the dark, and saw what looked like grafted-on knuckle-dusters, edged bits of metal sunk into his skin. There was dried blood under his fingernails.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him, one way or another.” Romanova said nothing. Romulus nodded to Maria, and she tried to calm her suddenly nervous heart. “Who’s the broad?”

“Came along for the ride,” Romanova replied evasively. “And a bit of back-seat bingo.” Maria twitched involuntarily at the images flooding her mind, and the slight smile on Romanova’s face grew and then disappeared. Constantin’s slash of a mouth twisted in disgust.

“You always have been freaky, Widow,” he spat, looking Maria up and down. Romanova laughed delicately.

“That’s a bit rich, comin’ from the Spider-Man wannabe,” she replied. Constantin’s nose lifted in a sneer, but he didn’t quip back. A dirty wind picked up from the calming sea, ruffling Constantin’s hair into a wavy mess. Romulus eyed Belova, and she lifted her lip in a grinning, terrifying snarl. No one moved. No one spoke. Mafia business was boring. It was because of the etiquette, Maria supposed. Double bluffs and knives behind smiles, smoking guns and back-cheating, but with an air of good grace and manners laid thickly on top. Romanova sighed, and Romulus checked his watch. Romanova looked between the two men. “You wanna know who _is_ Spider-Man now?” she asked.

“I didn’t come here for small talk, Widow,” snapped Constantin.

“Neither did I,” Romanova replied lightly. The wind snaked cold beneath Maria’s jacket and she fought not to shiver. “But we’re being kept waitin’. Might as well share the news, huh?” Constantin grunted and dipped his hand into his pocket, bringing out a pipe and sticking it between his teeth. Maria wondered what Romanova was doing; she never said a single thing without an ulterior motive, that much she had learnt. Why was she so keen to share her own information? “It’s Parker.” Constantin’s head snapped up, and he stopped attempting to light his pipe.

“The kid?” he asked gruffly, moving his lips around the end of the pipe.

"The very same," Romanova replied. Constantin eyed her for a second.

"Careful there, Widow," he growled, after a little while, but no one got to find out just why Romanova should be careful, as at that moment, there was a piercing whistle from the road leading off to Maria's left, and there, striding through the darkness, was a group of people. Heading the group, the infamous Baron Strucker, with his monocle glinting in the dull evening light. Behind him, a man and a women dragged a hooded child, and with a cold lurch, Maria recognised those scruffy clothes. By the stiffness of Romanova's posture, so did she.

"I've caught a spider," crowed Strucker, his German accent thinly veiling his words. Constantin eyed Romanova, who was utterly focused on the kid.

"What is going on?" snapped Romulus. Strucker grew level with them, and there was a slapstick grin on his face, like he was deliberately teasing them all. Romanova was still silently stony, training her gaze on the hooded child. Belova had her hands inside her jacket, no doubt, Maria thought, grasping ready at her weapons. The girl looked like she was heading to an execution, and there was a horrible sensation in the pit of Maria’s stomach.

Strucker halted and bowed mockingly. No one else moved, or spoke.

“So sorry for the wait,” he said.

“Ava,” Romanova said quietly. “Baby, you okay?” There was real concern in Romanova’s voice, edged with a futile desperation. Like she knew exactly what was coming. Maria looked from Romanova to Strucker, hesitant and full of foreboding. Ava was trembling beneath her hood.

"I'm 'kay," came a muffled voice. Romanova relaxed, just the tiniest little bit. Maria doubted anyone noticed except her.

"This little girl," started Strucker, bringing a tight grip down on Ava's shoulder, "was hanging around my laboratory. Not one of mine, no. Yours, I think, Widow?" Romanova ignored him. "You are breaking terms of arrangement." He rolled his R's with flair, and his grin didn't disappear. "I suppose I'll have to break it off, won't I?" Romanova glared. "Or..." Strucker's hand strayed towards his inside pocket, his eye gleaming like a beam behind his monocle. "Maybe I should kill the lone wolf and we may carry on? She is...nobody's. You never tried to undermine me. We go about our business. Yes?" Ava squeaked beneath her hood. Maria tried not to react, but it looked like Romanova was weighing her options. Calculating, on a child's life. If Maria had been disgusted by Romanova before, this was something entirely different.

"You betrayed us, Widow?" Constantin interrupted, and his voice was no longer just a growl. It was a metallic snarl.

"Quiet," Romanova demanded.

"I didn't come here to be tricked," Romulus snapped, and Romanova rounded on him.

"Tricked? I asked for the Headmistress, and all I got was you two greasers! If anyone was tricked, it was me!"

"How embarrassing for you," called Strucker, commanding their attention again. There was a pistol in his hand now, and Maria's heart was beating too fast. There had to be a way to get the girl out of this, even if Romanova agreed to let her die to save the meeting. "Unfortunately, the little girl is running out of time." He reached for the hood and whipped it off, and Ava cowered before them, eyes squeezed tight shut. Dirt and blood was strung across her face in gory lines. Strucker waved the pistol nonchalantly and cocked an eye at Romanova. "Make your choices, Widow. Is this one yours?" Romanova stared at Ava. Ava cracked an eye open and a look passed between them: understanding and inevitability. Romanova was going to let the girl die.

"I don't know her," Romanova said tightly, her voice constricted. Beside her, Belova whipped her head around frantically.

"Natalia-"

"Quiet!" Romanova growled through gritted teeth. Maria's thoughts were racing a mile a minute. If she could get to Ava and call in the back-up before Strucker had a chance to pull the trigger, they'd still have Hydra and Red superiors in jail. They'd still win. No children had to die. "Don't do anything stupid, Hill," Romanova murmured, as Strucker raised his pistol, jabbing the end into Ava's head. The girl closed her eyes, hands shaking, a tear tracking a clean trail through the mess on her face. Maria reached into her back pocket, and pressed the round side button on her radio. 

"You wanna see stupid?" Maria muttered back. Romanova jerked like she wanted to tell her off, but she didn't take her eyes off Ava. Something excited thrummed through Maria's veins. Something hot and stupid and reckless. Something that wasn't about to watch a little girl die. Ava tilted her chin up, and she looked like she was readying herself. No kid should have to do that. She shouldn't have to prepare to go so early.

"Goodbye, little girl," Strucker said, with sadistic satisfaction, and he stepped back, aimed straight and true, squinted down the sights of the pistol.

Everything happened at once.

Maria sprang, throwing herself at Ava, the shot went off, the ground hit them and they rolled, Strucker roared and fired again, and then in half an instant, the docks were full of charging, armed people from both sides and chaos erupted. 

She couldn't get up. The concrete cradled her face. Ava was gone. Her own breathing was louder than all the clashing weapons and rattling gunshots and screaming fighters. Something flashed, bright white, and her vision turned spotty and blue. Someone hollered, right by her ear. A ground-rattling _BOOM_ , and sound dulled even more, deadened to just the wet rattle of air in her lungs. Heavy boots, standard field S.H.I.E.L.D-wear, slammed into the stone by her outstretched hand, two, three, four pairs. A body thudded to the ground somewhere behind her, limp, heavy weight. Maria started to close her eyes, because there was pain snapping up her ribcage, her chest, licking her insides like blue flames. She closed her eyes, and then they seemed to weigh her whole head, and so she slipped away, quiet and unnoticed in the heat of the battlefield.

The world jolted her awake, swinging and swooping and jerking around her head. Fire, heavy smoke, sirens warbling intermittently, screeching distantly, warning her of dangerous people. Too late for that. A shoulder dug into her hip. Her head nestled in someone's collarbone. Slung over someone's back, lifted like a fire rescuer. A pair of dainty feet staggered over bloodstained concrete. They stumbled, and the pain flared in Maria's torso like a branding iron had been shoved cruelly through her body. A noise escaped her, a tiny, ragged gasp, and the runner, her dainty-footed saviour, faltered a little.

"...'right? Hang in there, Hill." The words bubbled through the pain-thick air around Maria's head. A dim shadow split the concrete in half and the dark encased them, still, they ran. Then there was a heavy jolt and a dull, splintering, creaking crash, and then more dark, darker dark.

A cold floor pressed itself against Maria's back, and her head lolled onto someone's soft arm. Chilled fingers on her wrist, searching for a pulse. Maria could feel a pulse herself, sickeningly slow, sighing through her veins. Maybe soon it would slow to nothing, and the flaming pain would, too. There would be nothing. But then, she'd never know if they won. 

She could drag herself back from this in-between, with its watery sounds and dark shadows and fiery, bloodless pain.

"Hill? Hill! Maria!" They sounded so panicked, so far away.

Maria sighed, a horrid sound, gasping and wet. So this wasn't a bloodless pain, after all. She heaved open her eyelids, and there was a coin of red above her, bright auburn, and it faded to a pale, blood and mud splashed face and a hood of red hair.

"Romanova." 

"You dead, Maria?" In this state, the way that her name fell from Romanova's lips was positively golden.

"Not if I...can help it." It was so difficult to speak. Too difficult to keep breathing, moving grating, cold air in and out and in and--

"You might wanna keep breathing, then."

"I thought you hated me."

"Not 'nough to leave you without a chance." It took far too long for the words to sort themselves into sense in her head. Romanova had her hands on her, one on her abdomen and the other wiggling into her pocket.

"A chance?" she managed. There was no panic in Romanova's voice anymore. No desperation in her eyes. Not even anger, or frustration, or a tease. Just blank. The face she'd been wearing when she'd pulled the trigger on Anton Vanko. "Romanova. N'tash..."

"I'd save your strength, if I was you." A tug from her pocket, and Romanova wrenched out Maria's radio and laid it on the floor. 

"What are you doing?"

"You bleed harder when you speak."

"I'd bleed less if not for you."

"I'm giving you a chance, like I said." Romanova looked down at Maria's torso and winced.

"Bad?"

"Worse. You're a mess."

"Nothing new," Maria grunted. Romanova smiled, and it looked real, somehow. Not twisted or evil or forced, like all those smiles before. And then it was gone. "Smile..." Maria breathed, but it was too quiet and Romanova was too focused on Maria's mess of a torso to hear. "Natasha-"

"What?"

"Why'd you take me?" Their eyes met, green, and pain-dulled brown. Savage-sharp green, and brown.

Dark and knife-bright.

"Chance," Natasha breathed. She leant over, shifting her hand beneath Maria's head. She leant in and Maria, muscle-bound as she was, lay against her arm. Natasha raised a blood-red hand, her nails impeccably stained, and ran it gently through Maria's hair. She'd lost her hat some time ago. Fallen off, maybe, when she'd rolled to the ground with Ava in her arms.

"What are you..." She couldn't finish. Maybe she didn't want to. She sighed instead, gently lulled by Natasha's hand smearing her own blood through her hair.

"Quiet," Natasha whispered. "Not so quiet. Just enough, okay? Just for a chance." Another sigh. Maybe Natasha said something else, but it was drowned out by the dark and the blood and the sigh. Natasha tipped forward, and pressed her lips to Maria's, ever so gently. So gently it might not even have been real. Maria curled her blood-slick fingers into the arm of Natasha's jacket, and if she could have moved, she would have kissed her back.

Natasha let go of her after a long, warm second. Maria slumped back onto the cold floor. The air softened cold against the blood on her throat and in her hair, and Natasha drew back, and loomed as she stood.

"Hff..." Maria tried. Her arm fell, limp, to the floor. Wettened with her blood. "Natasha." Natasha lifted her dainty foot, high, brought it down, and stomped on the radio. It crunched, hard, and cracked, and she twisted her heel to separate the parts. If Maria had been more conscious, she would have struggled to sit up, she would have spat curses and lashed out and-- but she wasn't more conscious. She watched the pieces with a deadened face, and Natasha watched _her_ with dulled, savage eyes. "Natash..." She fixed her lapels and tucked a curl behind her ear, and then she turned to go.

"That's Black Widow to you, Agent Hill." The door creaked and closed behind her, and Maria gasped in the dark, beside the pieces of the broken radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finished, my children!
> 
> However, there are more books to come :) look out for _The Mechanic_ , it will probably be up and running in the next 1 to 2 weeks, but I'm bad at schedules, so don't hold your breath 😂


End file.
